too hot (hot damn)
by haverings
Summary: "It's so fucking hot," she groans, shifting onto her side and away from him. "Why did we listen to Octavia, again?" "When do we not listen to O?" Bellamy replies wryly, dragging his eyes down the pale expanse of Clarke's back, broken only by the dark strap of her bra. (Modern AU, Bellarke)


**title is from "Uptown Funk" by Mark Ronson ft. Bruno Mars, but really, i'd be more concerned if you _didn't_ know that :) **

**disclaimer: i don't own any of the 100, televison or novel**

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"Fuck, Bellamy," Clarke whines, writhing on top of the thin cotton bedsheets, soaked through with sweat.

He grunts in reply. "Clarke, I'm- _shit_ …"

Clarke throws her hand across her forehead, wiping away the perspiration that's gathered at her temples and frizzed her golden-blonde hair.

"It's so fucking hot," she groans, shifting onto her side and away from him. "Why did we listen to Octavia, again?"

"When do we not listen to O?" Bellamy replies wryly, dragging his eyes down the pale expanse of Clarke's back, broken only by the dark strap of her bra.

He swallows.

Unaware of his staring, Clarke huffs out a laugh, flipping once more on to her back and making the mattress bounce slightly.

"You've got me there," she smiles, holding his gaze with those big blue eyes. "She's got us wrapped around her little finger."

Bellamy nods half-heartedly. It had been Octavia's idea to go on this trip, she's right, and Bellamy had been helpless in the face of his sister's relentless puppy-dog eyes.

Of course, it was just his luck that Octavia had seen fit to suggest that he and Clarke carpool together, because after all; _"Your last classes end at the same time, it's common sense. You two mythology-loving weirdos can talk about the Ancient Greeks the whole drive or something."_

He remembers the sly smile on her face and, not for the first time, rues the day he told Octavia about his - _tiny_ \- crush on Clarke Griffin.

Look, it would be weirder if he _wasn't_ attracted to her, okay?

She's fucking gorgeous, bright blue eyes and blonde hair, like the goddamn American Dream come to life. She's got the figure to match, too - and he tries not to stare; God knows the inherent misogyny in it makes Bellamy disgusted with himself - but she looks like a dream; all smooth, peachy skin; petite enough to satisfy his baser Neanderthal instincts - he's sure that Clarke could take him down without breaking much of a sweat, but the illusion of being able to take care of her is one he enjoys; and she's got curves that make his mouth water.

It's not even just the way she looks that does it for him - Clarke's mind is as sharp as a knife and about two times as deadly. He's seen her shut down authority figures without breaking a sweat, and woe is the man - or woman - who dares get on the wrong side of her.

They still don't mention what happened, after Lexa.

Miller often tells him that what Clarke did still gives him nightmares.

 _"Shit, man,"_ he'll say, beanie pulled down on his forehead and voice lowered to a whisper _. "She's fucking terrifying, okay? She could kill me and I'd probably thank her."_

That's not all there is, though. Clarke can be delightfully giddy - she's a cheerful drunk for the most part, giggly and tactile, often hanging off the arm of the friend that's nearest to her.

She's fiercely protective, too. If he thought he was bad when it came to Octavia, Clarke is able to out mother-hen him in her sleep. She loves with her whole heart, and once Clarke cares about you? That's you for life. Bellamy couldn't be more thankful to count himself as one of the lucky few.

He's ridiculously in love with her, is what he's saying. What hurts is that there's absolutely no chance she feels the same way.

"Anyone home?" Clarke asks him, waving her hand in front of her face. "You've been staring at me for the past five minutes."

"Shit, Clarke, sorry," Bellamy fumbles. "It's the heat, I'm going crazy with it."

She nods in reply, and he takes a chance to properly look at her. They've both stripped down to their underwear, squished together like sardines in the narrow bed. Clarke's bra is stained several shades darker by sweat at the underside of her breasts, and Bellamy has to make a conscious effort to pull his gaze away from a droplet of sweat that's tracking a slow pathway down the curve of her jaw.

Her hair is damp with moisture, and the sharp smell of her sweat clings to the air. Bellamy finds he doesn't mind all that much, though; don't scientists say that you don't find the smell of people you are attracted to's sweat offensive?

He imagines he makes a picture not half as pretty as Clarke does, anyhow. He can feel his hair rocketing into riotous curls, the humid air making it frizz nearly as bad as Clarke's has, and even in the dim light he can see the sweat glistening on his arms and chest.

Clarke grins at him, pulling him out of his thoughts once more.

"I would say this trip wasn't worth it," she begins, reaching her hand out and wiping away the dampness Bellamy knows has gathered at his hairline. "Except if I hadn't come I wouldn't have gotten to spend so much time with you."

Bellamy shivers at her fingers on his skin, closing his eyes briefly and leaning into her hand. Clarke isn't tactile, not like he and Octavia are with each other, and he savours each touch, especially because he and Clarke have come so far from where they began.

When they first met, they had hated each other about as much as someone could hate another human being. Circumstances, however, had forced them together, and the end result was a friendship so strong that it doesn't feel a good enough word to describe what he and Clarke have with each other.

She's much more than Bellamy's best friend; she is the other half of his soul. Not only that, but he's pathetically, stupidly in love with her, and completely past the point of denial.

"You fond of me, Griffin?" He drawls lazily, gazing down at her with a look of complete adoration on his face, he's sure.

"Maybe," she lilts, smiling up at him through her eyelashes in a way that looks almost shy. Her expression breaks, though, when she furrows her brow.

" _Fuck_ , it's hot," she exhales, and Bellamy laughs, the moment gone.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Wonder if O knew this place had no air-con when she booked it?"

"I bet it's only our room that doesn't have it. We're right up in the attic, it wouldn't surprise me."

Clarke's right, Bellamy reflects. They had arrived later than expected, Bellamy's last class having ran over, and when they'd arrived at the cabin Octavia had gleefully informed them that there was only one room spare.

 _"I guess you guys'll just have to share,"_ she had told them when they pulled up outside, cramped and grumpy from the long journey. _"It's a double bed, don't worry - but it is pretty small. Good job you enjoy each other's company, eh?"_

Bellamy thinks back, remembers the smirk on Octavia's face and vows to let his little sister have a piece of his mind in the morning. She knows fine well just how much he enjoys Clarke's company, and she's gotten it into her head that Clarke feels the same way about him.

It's wishful thinking, of course. Octavia's deliriously happy with Lincoln and thinks that everyone else should be the same; hence why she planned this little excursion, inviting all their - mostly single - friends to this tiny little cabin. She's projecting, is all, taking Clarke's harmless jokes and affectionate comments and twisting them to mean something deeper.

Bellamy knows that Octavia's taken this chance to push he and Clarke together. He should probably tell her, he reflects, and clears his throat harshly.

"Clarke," he begins, and his voice is still hoarse. "Clarke, I don't think O did this accidentally."

She tilts her head, wondering. Bellamy moves his gaze to stare at the floor.

"See, I- Octavia's got it into her head that what we have isn't just friendship."

Clarke nods, still keeping silent.

"She thinks I'm in love with you," Bellamy rushes out in a breath, darting his eyes back up to Clarke's face and then away again.

She looks serious, her lips pursed and eyebrows drawn. It doesn't bode well.

"Are you?" She asks him, her blue eyes piercing. "In love with me?"

Bellamy swallows. He never feels as out of his depth as he does when he's around Clarke Griffin; it's one of the things he loves most about her. She pushes him to be louder, stronger, _better_.

"Yeah," he says, his voice steady. He doesn't see the point in keeping up a pretence of not caring, not any more, when Clarke is such a big part of his life that it seems cruel to himself to deny the chance of her reciprocating his feelings.

"I've been in love with you for so long," Bellamy continues, steeling himself to look Clarke in the eye. "If you don't… if you don't feel the same, it's fine, I'll leave, I don't have to-"

She smiles at him, interrupting his train of thought, and it's like the first glimpse of sunshine after a storm.

"You _idiot_ ," she says, latching an arm around Bellamy's bicep and pulling him down so they hover nose-to-nose. "You think I don't feel the same way? Bellamy, are you completely blind?"

"I'm beginning to think so," he replies shakily. "I didn't- I had no idea."

She smiles impossibly wider, and their breath mingles. Bellamy shifts on to his elbows, his chest brushing Clarke's, and he thinks the wave of heat that washes over him has little to do with the temperature of the tiny room.

"How long have we missed out on?" Clarke wonders aloud, her expression turned pensive. "How many months could we have been together for already?"

"How many years, more like," Bellamy says. He's loved Clarke silently for so long, and he feels like his heart is about to burst through his chest from joy.

Clarke leans up and kisses his cheek, her eyes fluttering closed.

"I love you, Bellamy Blake. You ridiculous boy."

He grins down at Clarke, although her eyes are shut, and swoops down to plant feather-light kisses all over her cheeks and forehead.

"And I," he breathes in between kisses. "Love you, Clarke Griffin. You ridiculous girl."

Her eyes open, and blue meets brown. Clarke surges up to meet him and he captures her lips in a slow kiss, savouring the feeling of her lips against his own, the salty sweet tang of her sweat.

"Oh god," she says several long minutes later, breaking the kiss and leaning her forehead against his. "What will Octavia say in the morning?"

"A big fat _'I told you so,'_ I imagine," Bellamy says in reply. He's so incandescently happy that not even the thought of his ridiculous little sister can dampen his mood.

"Well then," Clarke smirks, deliciously and evilly. "We might as well give her something to talk about in the meantime, because I for one do not plan on leaving this bed for some time."

"Great minds, Griffin," Bellamy says, moving to suck dark marks into the pale skin of Clarke's throat. "Great minds."

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 **thanks for reading! feel free to complain about the summer heat with me on tumblr, foolanyfriend :)**


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